To Know People, To Know Thyself
by Pygmy Puff of Doom
Summary: Voldemort looks back on his life, from the orphanage till he arrives here at the kings cross station and contemplates his triumphs, defeats, and how the charming young Tom Riddle from the orphanage turned into the most feared dark lord of the time.


**To Know People, To Know Thyself **

**By Pygmy Puff of Doom (PPOD) **

**Summary: **Voldemort looks back on his life, from the orphanage till he arrives here at the kings cross station and contemplates his triumphs, defeats, and how the charming young Tom Riddle from the orphanage turned into the most feared dark lord of the time. Voldemort psychoanalyzes himself.

"Yes, I knew how to get what I wanted. Perhaps the problem was I didn't know what I wanted in the first place, or maybe it was just that I didn't know myself." Written in first person, even though I hate writing in first person I thought it was appropriate for this fic.

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I have always found the psychology behind serial killers fascinating. It was one of the many things I studied while living the muggle world before I knew I was a wizard. I was always more intelligent than the other children, and more vicious. As soon as I was able I read, what else was there for me to do; I had no friends. One thing I enjoyed more than anything else was studying how people think, interact, and react. So I studied. I read everything I could, and would watch, trying to predict how people would respond to different scenarios before they occurred. It soon occurred to me that only so much could be learned from books before you need to get practical experience.

And so I practiced.

Adults loved me. I thought of myself as a talented actor, one who the audience loved. I was so good they thought I was real. The only difference between me and an actor was that I had no stage, and my 'audience' was unaware that they were actually part of the crew.

I quickly realized that people were not all alike, while some (mainly adults at the time) loved me when I was sweet and charming, other people were not at all like that. Amongst my age group I noted that to really have them leave me alone and to get them to quit harassing me it was best if they feared me. If I was the most terrifying person around they would leave me alone, they would respect me. I wanted them to leave me alone, but it was more than that. I wanted them to respect me, or maybe I wanted them to fear me. Now that I think on it, perhaps I didn't know the difference.

I knew how to get what I wanted.

If it took killing the rabbit to get them to fear so be it. If I had to torture them in a cave I would. And the best part was none of the orphanage workers new. To them I was a poor, intelligent, charming orphaned Tom Riddle who was more mature than the other children.

And then he came. Dumbledore, and what a candy loving old coot he was. Though I couldn't help, still can't help but respect him. He practically handed me my dreams on a silver platter, while at the same time ripping them from me entirely. I was a wizard; of course I had always known I was special. But there were others, an entire world of them; I was losing my advantage. How was I supposed to have others respect and listen to me when I was just one of the many? I wasn't one of the special anymore, I couldn't use my talent in magic to scare people into getting what I wanted anymore because there were people who were more talented, who knew more than I did. The only consolation was that there was a possibility of me finding my family in this new world, and even that was notion was destroyed later.

I still didn't like Dumbledore. Maybe it was because he took away what made me unique, maybe it was because he had respect and knowledge that I did not, and maybe it was because I feared him. He was in control in my territory. His display with the wardrobe alarmed me, not just because of the physical advantage it gave him, but because he had seen through my act. He KNEW I was an actor, and it gave him power over the situation. He was right, in the end, I am afraid of the unknown, and if I am not in control I don't know what will happen.

Still, I could get control of the situation again. Once I was at Hogwarts I would do what I did best. I would act, gaining influence and knowledge and respect . . . and fear. I would get what I wanted. I knew how to get what I wanted. Perhaps the problem was I didn't know what it was I wanted.

It was easy enough to gain influence in Hogwarts. Even though they were wizards they were still people, and people are nothing if not predictable when reacting to a stimuli. Though there are always exceptions. Dumbledore was an exception, even if he did nothing but watch me, always watching but never acting. It was so easy I was beginning to wonder why I was so worried before arriving, perhaps I was anticipating wizards begin different than muggles, and they are, just . . . not as much as I thought. In truth the only difference is magic.

I created my first horcrux. I don't know what I wanted after that, I think I thought it was respect. (Again I can't help but think that my definitions of those were a bit screwy). I recognize now that no matter what it was I wanted my methods became sloppy.

But I was Lord Voldemort then. No longer was I Tom Riddle the charming orphan boy, the actor. Perhaps my enlarged ego as Voldemort was a product of my ability to act. I was a natural at it, especially at the orphanage. I had thought in my youth that my acting skills were impossible to detect, and they were before Dumbledore. Because even in the wizarding world no one but Dumbledore connected the orphan Tom Riddle to the feared Dark Lord Voldemort. Even in Hogwarts, amongst wizards I was beyond talented, I was the best, I was a genius.

Still, it was an ego boost that I did not need.

And as Voldemort I got whatever it was that he wanted because I KNEW people. I understood the way they would react to situations before they themselves even understood how they would react. Voldemort, however, had a flaw, the same flaw as Tom Riddle, because in truth they are two sides of the same coin that is me. He . . . I was impatient. Instead of using my charming demeanor to get what I wanted I decided to do it the easy and fast way, the way of fear.

I will skim over what I was thinking while I was a spirit during those thirteen years after my defeat at the hands of the baby Potter. In truth, I was enraged; the kind of enraged that I am sure a wounded animal feels when it is attacked by surprise. Perhaps not the most rational decision I have ever made, but I wanted to destroy Potter. Not because it would help with my goal of . . . whatever it was. I am not sure I had one, at least, not by then after I had split myself so many times. No, I wanted Potter dead because he had proved that I was still vulnerable. Somehow I had lost control of the situation and was no longer the feared and the invincible. I was again, nothing special, not unique.

I did come back to power. I accomplished much. And then I was defeated. Permanently, by none other than Potter. I can't help but envy him now, not because he won, not because he was loved and had friends, but because he knew what he wanted.

Because I have always known how to get what I want, but I never knew what I wanted. Because with all of my knowledge of people, and I KNEW people, I did not know myself.

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**A/N: **I was going to end here, but another thing to add came to me. Honestly, if you don't want to keep reading you don't have to, though I would like it if you did. Everything after this is kind of like an extra scene at the end of a movie, once the credits are done. The point of the fic was basically covered above but I liked this too much to cut it out completely.

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So now I sit here, at King's Cross Station, with all of the other pieces of me (even the one that had attached itself to Potter), and wait for the train. Somehow, I know the train for me won't come, not yet. Not until I take the best bit of advice ever given to me, and from my enemy at that. I need to feel remorse, and put myself back together again.

He came through here awhile ago. He was older than when he defeated me. Of course he was, he lived a full life. He stopped and chatted for awhile, and Merlin, that boy is worse than Dumbledore when it comes to trying to get a straight answer. At first it was small talk, just 'catching up' as he put it. And somehow I couldn't be angry at that comment, it wasn't demeaning, condescending or mocking, simply a statement of fact. Looking into those startling eyes I noticed that when he had a hidden meaning behind what he was saying or doing, they flashed an Avada Kedavra green. It was like a reflection of the curse he had been subjected to, not once, but twice was shining through. It was power; his version of Dumbledore's twinkling blue and my glowing red. It was one of those things I notice about people when observing and anticipating how they would react.

He told me all about his family. He had married the red headed girl, Ginny was her name. They had three children. I couldn't help but think the rather morbid thought that he had done all this despite what I had done. I had almost killed him; he should have died on numerous occasions. But he didn't, and he found happiness. He asked what I had been doing. I knew that he knew what I had been doing, and he knew that I knew that he knew, but he still asked. He asked because I needed to verbalize it. I couldn't help but feel like a little kid with a mentor, like this was what Dumbledore should have done for me. But here I was with someone younger than myself, well, who WAS younger than myself. I don't think I aged while on this platform, and he is older than I was when I died, but he looks as if he could be in his fifties. And the way he asked wasn't like that of a mentor (even though the look in his eyes says differently) it was more like trying to be reacquainted with an old friend. But I am starting to ramble. He asked what I had been doing and I answered that I had been 'thinking.'

He just smiled at me and said, "Of course, while waiting for something what else is one supposed to do."

I blinked a few times and looked around at the station again. People came through frequently, but I never saw the train. Finally I asked him where we were. He looked out at the station for a few minutes with a nostalgic look on his face before turning and answering with a smirk, "Where do you think we are?"

I couldn't help but wonder what had him so amused. But I answered anyways that it was a train station. He just smiled and nodded. It went without saying that yes, this was a station. It was a place of waiting before you passed on after you died.

And then it struck me. He had BEEN here before. I looked up to find him watching me. He was waiting for me to catch on. I came right out and said it, "You've been here before." He nodded. Even in his life I could recall that he was never much of a talker. "Is there a way back?" This time he shook his head. "No, he said. Not for me. Not this time. And not for you either."

I felt like screaming. "If I can't go back then how do I go on? How do I catch the train that everyone else seems to take but never appears for me?" I was just so sick of waiting.

He sighed. It was a heavy weighted sigh. He just looked at me, and then around at the various pieces of myself. The entire time with an expression of a patient parent that was explaining something again. So I sat next to him and thought. I looked around that the pieces of myself and felt the sinking feeling that accompanies realizing something unpleasant. I turned back to him and said, "Because I'm in pieces. The horcruxes." I could remember his words before that final battle. I remember his saying something along the lines of feel remorse, I have seen what will become of you and it's not pleasant.

He just nodded.

And I understood, I would need to reverse the horcruxes before the train would come. But something struck me as strange. Something wasn't right about all of this. This was something other people wouldn't have noticed. It took even me awhile to pinpoint what it was. Then I had glanced at him and asked, "Then why are you here?"

At this he actually laughed. Then he looked straight at me again with those unnerving eyes and said, "People aren't supposed to wait here forever." There was a slight pause before he continued, "Besides, by the time our conversation is over Ginny may be here. I know she won't be long. Then we can leave together."

We sat side by side for awhile. While I digested everything, occasionally one of us would say something. But it was generally unimportant. Eventually he stood. A red headed woman had arrived on the platform. He called her over before he turned back to me. She looked on curiously, though I could tell she knew who I was, as Harry smiled at me. "It was lovely meeting you again, but it is time I catch the train. I expect that I shall see you soon." Then he took the woman's hand and walked away, but not without one last look at me that said more than should be possible, something that mattered more to me than anything else. His gaze said that he understood, he knew what I was. He knew that I knew people; he knew that I was an actor with so many faces that I had lost myself and that I had not known what I wanted. His gaze also said that he knew that I know knew what I wanted, that our conversation had given me what I had not had in life, a true purpose. Then he and his wife disappeared leaving me to contemplate our conversation.

And for the first time I smiled, a true smile. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back as I let all the foreign feels out for the first time. And I clung to them, because these were not fake, they were not my many masks; they were not the false friends and followers I had acquired. These were real, and so was the remorse.

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**A/N: **I just had to add that at the end. This came to me really randomly while I was reading something else. And this last part is practically a separate fic, and does not completely go with the purpose I had originally intended, but I had to add it. I think it definitely shows a different side to my whole character, gives more meaning to the first bit.

I have not abandoned my other fic_. Irrefutable Retribution_ will be added to, but that requires a lot more time and thought than this oneshot did, and I have to study.

Finished 7-29-09.

Someone pointed out one a spelling error in a review, so I decided to use that as an excuse to go back and fix both the spelling error and a couple of the grammar errors that had been bothering me. There are probably other but I am too lazy to do a thorough editing.


End file.
